Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
Bio
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
Stories (325)
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The Fracturer and the Weaver
Movement I: The Arrival of Truths Before the shaping of the world, there was a chamber where speech itself was gathered. Here the air was restless, filled with syllables unmoored, falling like rain before they had names. A ground of shifting light stretched outward, and from that mist rose the Elemental Figures, each bearing a portion of what mortals would one day inherit.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
Two Lives in Rain and Silence
Prologue - The Table The day my world changed is still today. I lie face down on the surgical table, my back bared to the lamps that glare like interrogators. The monitors click and stutter, not as machines but as scribes, recording my heart in crooked ink. A needle presses into me and the sound it makes is a vow, sharp, and final.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror of Creation
They told us the river was only a river, but my mother called it a mouth—the place where the first breath rose from the dark and learned the shape of a body. When I was a child, I laughed at her stories and threw stones into the current to prove it was water and nothing more. The stones never came back. That was all the proof I wanted then.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
Breath and Beginning
“Breath as compass, inheritance, and the first story we ever tell.” The only element that matters is oxygen. Not the way it sits in chemistry tables, tidy and numbered, but the way it drags into your lungs on a cold day and reminds you you’re alive. Breath is the first covenant, the oldest story. Before words, before thought, before names or maps, there was only the drawing in and the letting go.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Humans
Through the Keyhole
The door had never opened in my lifetime. It was as constant and unknowable as the spine of the house—paint layered until it shone like porcelain.. When we were children, my sisters pressed their ears to it, sure secrets were audible if you held very still. The key was gone, our mother said, with a practiced gentleness. “Gone with the old owners,” or “gone with the years.” Once, when I asked what was behind it, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and said, “A closet,” then, after a beat too long, “just old linens.”
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
In Search of the Better Note
Prologue: The Seam The choice is so small the strangers on the platform do not notice. A train exhales, its breath a dragon’s plume rolling through the cold air. Overhead, a gull carves a white vowel across the morning sky, a sound older than the station, older than the city. The announcement board flickers and rearranges times like a conjurer’s deck of cards, numbers shuffling themselves toward destiny.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
The Hollow Door
Prologue: The Knock The first knock was so soft Mara thought she had imagined it, a trick of the storm or the restless old bones of the house. She set her book aside, fingers pressed flat on the cover a moment longer than necessary, as though the weight of her hand could anchor her.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
The Knock at Hollow Lane. Top Story - September 2025.
The first knock was so soft Mara thought she had dreamed it. The cottage was always quiet in the evenings, but that night the silence was heavier, as if the walls themselves were listening. The fire guttered down to a bed of embers, pulsing faint orange. The mantle clock ticked with a thin, nervous rhythm. Wind shouldered the house, carrying rain across the moor, brushing the windowpanes with long, wet fingers.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
The Silence and the Song
Prelude “Before crowns were forged, there was silence and song – and the choice between them.” In the age when crowns were heavier than mountains, and thrones cast shadows longer than rivers, a hunger stirred that no kingdom could name. It was older than stone, older than fire, older even than the first song of the stars. Yet the stars endured, distant but steadfast, keeping their silent watch. Their light bore witness, silent but unwavering, as the Shadow spread its hunger across the earth.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales6 months ago in Fiction
